


At the Edge of Vision

by saltandlimes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath compliant, Angst, Backstory, Bloodline Compliant, Body Image, Growing Up, M/M, cannibalism but it isnt graphic, even monstrous people deserve love, monster hux, or not very
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: A growing up story. A story of finding one another. A story of deserving one another.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Monster Hux anyone?
> 
> Want more of him? Read [Shadows More than Darkness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7985125) or look under my [monster hux](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/tagged/monster%20hux) tag!

Armitage likes to play with his mother's hair. It's long, thick. Falls down her back, and sometimes he gets to wrap his hands in it, bury his face in the smell of it. Home, and warmth, and a darkness that reminds him of night air, and she'll let him nuzzle into it. It's beautiful, just like she is.

Even at eight years old, Armitage knows what beauty is. His father talks about it enough, when he comes to visit them. He bursts into the house, shoulders wide in his uniform, whirls Armitage's mother around with his hands careful about her waist. He reaches up, strokes along her lips and laughs when she bites at his fingertips. Caresses her spines, and they relax down her back while he's here, soft and pliant. And she smiles at that, makes a sharp hissing noise low in her throat that she always lets out when she's pleased at something.

His father always turns to him then, ruffles his hair. And Armitage likes that their hair is the same color, even if his sticks up every whichaway, and his father's is always perfectly in place. It's not as beautiful as his mother's hair, of course, but then, nothing about Armitage is.

Sometimes, at night, he runs his fingers down his own spines and wonders what it feels like to have someone else touch them. His aren't as long as his mother's, of course. And he can't make them stand up like she does, like she did the time that the man with the blaster showed up at their door and wouldn't go away. He asked her about them once – _why can't I do that? What's wrong with me?_ And even though she told him that there was nothing wrong with him – _we're all different, Armitage. Each one of us with our own gifts_ – he's not sure if he believes her.

It's hard, when he's so ugly. When his father isn't around, they don't wear these scratchy clothes. Don’t cover themselves as humans would. And so he knows exactly how inadequate he is. Skin too smooth, and it burns in the sun. It's too soft, too pliant. Claws too short, and they're almost like his father's hands. And maybe his father is handsome – his mother seems to think so – but Armitage, well, he sometimes looks at his mother's claws out of the corner of his eye and can't breathe, wishing so badly his were just like hers.

And most of the time, when his mother tucks him into bed and bites at the edge of his ear, most of the time he smiles and curls up, pillowed on soft leaves and springy branches. But every so often, every once in awhile he feels the bite of both the rows of her teeth. And he runs his tongue along his own teeth and wonders what it would feel like to have the second set. To lick over that double row. 

Sometimes Armitage gets to play with the other children who live in the forest. Not very often, though. And he’s not really upset about that. The last time he went out to the waterfall on a foggy, foggy day, he came back with a narrow, bleeding scratch down his side. And his mother had asked him what happened, running the smooth backs of her claws down the stinging slash with a sigh.

“We were playing. It was an accident.” Only it wasn’t. No. They’d been up on the side of the pool, on the slippery rocks. And Armitage had put a foot wrong, landing on a slick patch of moss. He’d slid downward, toppling over onto another boy. He’d been lucky to miss the sharp spines that ran down Mikha’s back, those spines that flex and move just as Armitage’s mother’s do. Mikha had shoved him away. 

That should have been the end of it. 

But instead, instead Mikha had stopped, stared. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Armitage had shrugged. What wasn’t? “Why does your chest feel like that?” He hadn’t known what to say. It just did. Wrong, like the rest of him, and it’s always been too soft. But they hadn’t cared really, cared what his answer was. No, instead they’d pawed at him, claws rasping and pulling at paper-thin skin. And it had been Mikha’s claw that had raked too hard down his ribs, left blood pooling in his wake. 

They’d stopped then. Stared. Laughed a little, in that nervous half-twitter that welled up from their throats and spilled through sharp, sharp teeth. Pulled away and turned their backs to him, to Armitage, who was now a curiosity, not a friend. He’d slunk off, side stinging. 

And when his mother asked, he lied. 

So now Armitage is happy to stay in the safe, grassy sward in front of their small house. Curl up in the late sunlight, let it play down the ridges of his claws and across his tiny spines. It feels kind, even though he knows if he stays out here too long, he’ll come back in red and aching. (And that never happens to his mother, to the other children, even though their skin is as pale as his own.)

It’s better that way. Because he’s not _right._ Ugly and too soft and broken. Missing pieces, and nothing seems to make him whole, not even his mother’s whispered words: _special, special._

***

Ben wants to slam the door, run outside and find some quiet place. There are no quiet places here. Not in the center of the city, and how he wishes he was anywhere else. 

Well, not anywhere. 

No, that’s just the problem. Ben doesn’t know where he wants to be. Who he wants to be, and they keep insisting he choose. They keep telling him that it’s time, that he needs to do the adult thing and begin his training, if that’s the path he wants to follow. That soon it will be too late, and wouldn’t it be a shame to waste a gift like his?

Wouldn’t it be a pity to abandon the family legacy? And he’s the only one who can carry it on, the only one who can raise the torch of the Jedi high after Uncle Luke grows old. 

“But if you don’t want to, Ben…” His mother smiles when she says it, strokes a hand across his hair. Ben pulls away. She doesn’t mean that. There’s no choice, not really. Or if there is, he can feel her desperation that he doesn’t make the wrong one. That he doesn’t turn out like his father - and he knows that Leia loves Han, can feel it in every pulse of her breath. But Ben knows other things. Can feel them, and no one has ever been able to hide things from him. 

So he knows how much Leia wishes that Ben turn out better. Better than Han, better than her, better even than Luke. How she hopes desperately that he is something more. 

“I know! I know, I know, I know. I can chose. You’ve told me before. Just... just…” He slams the door to his bedroom as he runs out of the room. And Ben doesn’t know what he wants to say to her, to scream as the choices pound in his head. Because what can his mother do to help? She knows what she wants for him. 

And she’s told him before that he can change his mind. _Try it out, Ben. If you don’t like it, you can always come back here._ He should believe her, he knows that. But it’s only…

Everything he’s always read, pouring over the books in their apartment that speak of the Jedi, everything tells him that it’s a one way path. That once you begin to train, you must see it through to the bitter end. That your master can release you, but that they will not do that until you are ready. Until you have learned properly. 

Ben knows Luke has changed things. But this, this cannot have changed that quickly. Because he understands why it matters. He twitches his fingers, and a book flies to him, settles itself in the palm of his hand. _This is why._ Because if he learns more, learns enough to control the humming throb of power rushing through him, that is just one part. But he is also supposed to learn responsibility.

Ben throws the book against the wall, not bothering with the Force. He wants to feel it fly from his hand, wants to hear the thunk as it slams into the empty space next to his bookshelf. It’s all crap. 

Because they speak of responsibility, of using the Force wisely. Of the path, and the way of the Light, and of the dangers of the Dark. They tell him how Luke will guide him if he choses to be a Jedi. But in the same breath they tell him that he can change his mind. That after drinking of the well, after swearing himself to the way, he can back out. 

And everything in Ben, every fiber of his being screams out that that is wrong. That an oath taken should not be so lightly broken. That he cannot set the path aside as lightly as his mother believes one can. And she doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what it means to break a promise. But Ben can feel it, when someone does. Can feel that broken oath as it eats them up inside, a canker sore of the soul. A broken promise is like an illness, even if Leia doesn’t understand that. Even if no one ever does. 

So if he goes to Luke, if he swears away his life to the path and the Light, can he give it up? Ben doesn’t think so, or at least not lightly. He doesn’t think that he can simply walk away. It doesn’t seem possible. 

And so he has to choose. Has to decide now, and whoever thought to make him chose? He’s thirteen, and he knows, _knows,_ that he can’t make this vow. That he doesn’t know enough, isn’t wise enough, isn’t brave enough. It’s too much, and he wants to punch a hole in the wall, look through the empty space to a world where things are different. Where he is fine, good, certain. Where he doesn’t have this ache inside him, this feeling that no one understands how much this choice matters.

Wants to hide away in this other world, in the certainty that he has done the right thing. In the assurance that he walks the right path. Needs to live in a place where there is no doubt, no shame, not this awful ache at the bottom of his stomach that won’t go away, no matter how he rages, he yells, he questions. No matter how much he studies, how many ancient tomes he pours over. 

Ben throws himself down on his bed. He has too many covers on it, his mother reminded him of that last week. But right now, right now he pulls them tight over his bed, squeezing himself inside them until nothing but his head is free. He buries his face in the pillow. 

It’s not time to sleep but Ben closes his eyes anyway. Maybe, maybe when he wakes up, he will be in that other place. He presses his mouth tight to the soft fabric of his sheets, whispers to them. 

“Force, please. I just… I know that people have visions. I know they do. Just please, please show me the way. Show me what I’m supposed to do. Just let me have some sort of a sign. I’m not asking for a vision of the future. It can be cryptic. But please, please anything. I just… I need… Just something. I’m not supposed to have to make this sort of choice. I can’t. Not alone. I can’t do it, and I don’t know how to tell them that. So just, please. Any sign.”

He falls asleep with desperation on his lips. And when he dreams, his mind is full of black and red. Ben never remembers his dreams.

***

Hux’s stomach hurts. It’s been weeks, weeks that he’s been here. They’d finally decided, his mother and father. _I’m so sorry, Armitage. It’s better this way. This way, you can be somebody. This way, you won’t have to stay here, bound to this planet, to me, to our folk. You’re so like your father. Destined for something more. You’re so special, my darling._ And he knows why he’s really here. He could never cut it, not with his mother. Too soft, too weak; he’s just wrong, ugly and not fit to live among his own people. So he’s here, in this academy, learning to be human. 

And his stomach aches. He’s been eating in the cafeteria, disgusting glop on trays that have not been washed nearly thoroughly enough. And he might think that’s why he’s got this buzzing in his head, this trembling in his claws. Might think that if he didn’t know better. 

No, that’s not the problem, or not exactly. And he wonders why his mother, his father didn’t think of that before they sent him here. Did they not expect this to happen? Every fiber in his body feels like it’s curling in upon itself, falling to pieces. And why is he like this? Why, if he has to be ugly, soft, weak like this, like the humans all around him, why does he need this?

Shouldn’t he be able to live like they do? If he’s cursed with this mouth, this skin, these small, small spines, shouldn’t he be able to eat what they do? It seems the cruelest trick of fate, that he lies here, curled on his bunk with his stomach flapping against his back. And he knows what would make him feel better. Just a little taste, a little blood hot in his mouth. 

Hux rolls over on the hard mattress. It’s not as though he fits in here anyway. Not as though these stupid boys matter. Dull witted, the lot of them. And if he’s weak, too soft, they’re worse. 

A klaxon sounds in the distance and he pushes himself off the bed. Pulls his gloves on - cover over the claws, don’t let them know. There’s nothing different about him. Nothing. 

He’s got a sparring lesson, another endless attempt on the instructors’ parts to turn them into fighters. And Armitage has heard the whispers about him. _Weak, useless._ They call him that, and he knows why.

Brendol explained it to him. 

_You have to understand, Armitage. I had to give some excuse. Why you weren’t with me. Why your mother wasn’t. They all know I loved her. I… I could never hide that. Not really. I wish I hadn’t had to say anything at all._ His father had stroked a hand over his hair, ran careful fingers through their matching strands. _You know I love you, you both. And I lied, but it was to protect you. It was. You’re strong enough to disprove my lies. I know you are. I…_ He’d choked up, pulled Armitage tight against him. _I’m sorry for it. I am._

But knowing, knowing that his father has tried to protect him, it doesn’t really make it better. Not when he steps into the sparring arena and a laugh comes from the back of the massed cluster of cadets. Not when his limbs are slim, his face so delicate in comparison to these blunt-faced boys. But he’s going to prove them wrong. Finally, finally, today.

“Tenshun!” The shout echoes across the arena and the mass of cadets snaps upright. “Full combat day, cadets. You’re all going to be shit, you are all already shit. But today, you’re going to get a chance to show me which of you has potential to be a little less of a fucking mess. Rules are as follows: No head strikes. No stomps. Submission is by tapout or unconsciousness. No strikes to permanently disable. I want to see what you’re made of, not thin out the pool.” The CPO laughs. “At least not yet. Now, who wants to go first?”

Ham-fisted Gen Ransome steps forward and Hux sighs. It’s going to be a long day. He tries to focus on the boys taking their places in front of him, but all he can think about is the throb in his stomach, the ache in his jaw. He needs to find a way to deal with this, and fast. 

“Hux! You think you’re so good that you don’t need to pay attention?” The shout shocks him upright, and he shakes his head mutely. “Well, if you’re so talented, why don’t you step into the ring and show us how it’s done.” 

Armitage can’t help the slight smile that creeps across his face. And he knows his teeth flash too sharp, but there’s nothing he can do about that. Not now, not when he’s going to finally get to show them what he can do. He looks around, wonders who he’ll be facing. The smile widens when he sees who it is. 

Alrik Cato. The Academy’s resident gossip and bully. And Hux has been waiting for a chance to get his claws into Cato’s soft neck. To scratch and tear at him, and the only thing he wishes is that they weren’t required to wear their gloves while sparring. Wishes he could rip his off and dig his fingers into Cato’s gleeful eyes. He’ll settle for this, though. 

“You both know the rules. Begin.” Cato circles around, still smirking. Hux takes a deep breath. There’s a twitch at the corner of Cato’s left shoulder and Hux pivots out of the way just as Cato swings. A quick jab to Cato’s side as he slides past, and then he’s out of reach of the taller boy again. Cato coughs, but straightens quickly. And Hux knows he should hold back. Shouldn’t show that this is as natural as breathing. But it’s hard to, as Cato begins to speak.

“Just gonna run away, Hux?” A kick that Hux avoids, then Cato slips back as Hux tries to get inside his guard. “Not gonna try to hit me? Scared? I should’ve guessed.” Hux kicks back, heel barely connecting with the edge of Cato’s hip. It’s not hard enough to hurt though, and Cato uses it to let Hux fall a little off balance. He’s closing as Hux rights himself. 

“Son of the commandant, and he was so ashamed that he never showed you to anyone. Now you’re just a little fucker like the rest of us.” And Hux sees red. He’s not like them. He’s better. And maybe he’s ugly, weak, soft. But they’re so much worse. He is not like them. 

Before he knows it, he’s throwing Cato to the ground, falling after him to straddle the large boy’s hips. He’s moved too fast, he knows, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters except showing how wrong Cato is. Cato tries to claw at him, push him away, but Hux just ignores the scrabbling hands. Instead, he fists his hands in Cato’s collar, twists and pulls. At first Cato just ignores it, the constriction, the loss of air. He slams a fist into Hux’s shoulder, but Hux had so much worse playing as a child. A jab at Hux’s stomach, but it already feels empty and aching, and what is one more hit. Then Cato’s eyes start to unfocus. His face goes slack, his arms fall to his sides. 

Hux stands up.

The CPO is staring at him. Hux scrubs his claws against his thighs, remembers they’re still gloved, not dripping with the blood he wishes was pouring down Cato’s face. 

“Wake him up, someone. Adequately done, Cadet Hux.” It’s the highest praise the CPO has offered today, and Hux nods. His skin hums. He wants more, and this hasn’t made it any easier to ignore the need welling up inside him. When he walks back to the group of cadets, they spread apart for him. And he suddenly realizes none of them had expected him to win. None had thought they’d see Cato choked out on the dirt, lying there without even landing a strike on Hux before Hux brought him to the ground. 

He smiles, teeth sharp and wide, and they back away farther. 

That night, when he’s heading back across the Academy grounds to his room, a hand grabs at his sleeve. Tugs him sideways and Hux twists to face a pale face in the dark. Cato, and he pulls Hux towards a clearing in the wood that rings the Academy, hand insistant. Hux follows. There’s nothing to be done but follow. 

“I don’t appreciate being made a fool of, Hux.” Cato tries to loom over him, pulls himself up to his full height. Hux smiles. He was always the shortest, the smallest growing up. Cato is nothing compared to his friends at home. He cocks his head to one side.

“You must not appreciate most of what people say about you then, Cato.” Hux’s blood hums through him as Cato snarls. 

“Little fucker! I think you owe me something for earlier. You know what’ll happen if you don’t. I have friends, you know. We’ll make you hate every breath you draw if you don’t.” Hux laughs, a short, incredulous sound. 

“What can you do to me, Cato? What can you do now? I beat you once. Are you looking for a rematch?” Cato’s face grows darker, and he steps closer to fist his hands in Hux’s shirt. 

“You think I’m funny, you little fucker? Your father won’t protect you, you know. I’ve heard how he talks about you. He’d probably be happy to see you roughed up just a little.” Something inside Hux snaps. That’s a lie. It is. He knows it is. His father loves him. He’s tugging off a glove before he realizes what he’s doing. Wrapping a claw around Cato’s throat and it feels so good. Cato’s eyes go wide. 

“What… what’s wrong with your hand?” He chokes out, but Hux just smiles, shows Cato his teeth. It’s uncoiling inside him, that part of him that is better than all these soft human cadets, and he needs it so badly now he can already almost taste Cato’s blood in his mouth. He rakes his other claw down Cato’s side, drawing blood. Licks it off, and it tastes incredible. Then it’s warm and red and soft around him, and his stomach doesn’t hurt anymore. 

There’s a whistle through the trees, wind blowing sharp and bright. The clouds have rolled away a little, night bright and crisp. It carries the scent of the clearing away, scatters it out so there’s nothing left of it but faint heat. Just a thin metallic edge that trembles at the edge of perception.

When Hux finally comes back to himself, calms down enough, he’s curled up on the ground. Sucking, sucking at a bone, and there’s a mess on the ground. But he feels so much better now. A hand strokes across his stomach. It’s too full, pushing out at his belt, but it’s been so long, and he doesn’t know the next time he’ll get this. So he just pets across it, mouths at the scrap between his teeth. Spits it out once it’s free of marrow. His claws are filthy, and he licks them clean. 

There’s not enough left on the ground to identify his meal, he thinks. And his uniform is, miraculously, fairly clean, the jacket across the clearing from him where he must have torn it off as he ate. So there’s just a dribble of blood that must have run down his chin to pool at his collar before that. Hux scrubs his face. Struggles upright, off balance with the fullness of his belly. But he feels more alive than he has in weeks, ever since he came here. 

He’s careful as he makes his way out of the clearing. It wouldn’t do to track blood across the campus. Wouldn’t help, even though he sees no one as he slowly heads back to his room. A single, the only privilege afforded him as the son of one of the leading members of the First Order. 

Once he’s there he slips out of his uniform, releases his belt with a sigh. Then he curls back under his blankets, naked and satiated. The rough weave of the cover closest to his skin snags on one of his spines and he detaches it with a sigh. When he’s done with this place, when he finally has a room on a ship, a home of his own, he’ll turn the temperature up so he doesn’t have to bother with covering himself. But for now, he curls up tighter, wraps his claws around his stomach and buries his face in the pillows. 

He doesn’t dream.

The next morning, there’s a knock at his door an hour before the first class. Hux is already dressed, straightening his hair in front of the mirror. He sighs, opens the door.

“Hux? The commandant’s looking for you.” Armitage nods. Tries not to smile. His father is back on world, then. It’s more than a little exciting. He pushes the last strand of hair into place and steps out into the corridor. It’s an effort not to run as he heads down the long halls toward his father’s office. 

“Armitage!” He steps into his father’s arms with a sigh. It’s so hard, here, not to touch. Not to try to curl up with the cadets like he did with his friends back home on Arkanis. His father’s arms tighten around his sides as he buries his face in Brendol’s uniform. Soon, soon he’ll be too tall for this, will have overtopped his father. He’s certain of it. Already he’s close to his father’s height. But for now, he can do this. 

“When did you get back?” he asks once they part and Brendol gestures for him to settle in one of the chairs across from the huge desk. 

“Early this morning. Your mother says hello. I stopped by Arkanis on the way here.” Armitage grins. He can imagine it, his father sweeping her up, hands running over her shoulders and spines, smiling at her. He wishes he could have come too. 

“Send her my love as well, next time you see her.” He’s proud of the control in his voice. The way the wistful tone is just a light breeze that blows through clear formality. Brendol nods, leans forward. 

“How are you settling in, Armitage? You’ve been here a few months.” He’s not sure what to say. _I got into a fight. I ate a student. He wasn’t a very good student. He tasted good, though._ That isn’t the answer his father is looking for. 

“Tolerably well, father. I won my sparring match yesterday.” It’s a safe compromise. 

“I heard. Congratulations.” Brendol glances sideways, as though looking for someone. Scans the room carefully. “You know, Armitage, I was informed of a rather distasteful thing upon my arrival this morning. It seems that a wild animal made its way onto the Academy grounds last night. A droid discovered a rather gory scene in the forest late last night. A cadet had been torn to pieces. Do you know who it was?” Armitage swallows. His father doesn’t look angry, just blandly curious.

“Um… no, father. I came straight here upon getting up this morning.”

“It was the very same cadet that lost the sparring match to you yesterday. I’ve been informed, confidentially, you understand, that it is no great loss to the school. He was bad for camaraderie, they tell me.” Armitage rolls his shoulders, feels how his belly still curves out a little more than it should. 

“I wouldn’t want to speak ill of my fellows, father.” He has to stop himself from resting a gloved claw on his belt. 

“I’m not going to ask it of you, son. And I know that sometimes we have to do things that might otherwise seem foolhardy or risky. It’s sometimes a necessity.” Brendol leans forward, rests his elbows on the table. “It would be a pity if this sort of incident became common. It would surprise me, given the proximity of a well populated town.” Armitage can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief. His father understands. _His father understands, and isn’t angry._

“I would think so too, sir. I’m sure this was an isolated incident.” Brendol nods, smiles wide and sharp at him. 

“Then tell me more about your studies. What are you enjoying?” Armitage leans forward too. Starts to tell his father about the engineering class he’s just started. It’s fascinating.  
***

Ben takes a deep breath. Resettles himself on his knees and tries to clear out his mind. He and Luke are leaving soon, another wandering, spiraling path across the galaxy to try to do what little they can. He slowly tenses every muscle in his body. He’s humming, hovering on the point of a knife. And then he lets the tension pour out of him, sinks down to the well of calm that he’s building in the base of his mind. 

It’s there, a still pool that he dives into. But even as he feels himself empty out, he wonders. It always feels off, doing this. Even if it’s been years that he’s felt out this place, it has never become his. 

And Ben knows why. Remembers with every breath he takes, every time he belts on his lightsaber, pulls on his tunic. Doubt is a worm, and it eats at him. Luke tells him that everyone doubts. That everyone is uncertain. 

Not like this. It’s a blanket over him, and sometimes Ben wonders if he can even feel any more. If this has consumed him, and there is nothing left but a wraith that flits in Luke’s wake. 

This cannot be what he is meant to be. His mother smiles when she sees him. _I’m proud of you Ben. So proud. You’re doing so much good for the galaxy._ Except if that were true, wouldn’t he feel different? Wouldn’t he know the calm that Luke always speaks about?

That he feels when he reaches out and brushes across Luke’s mind. 

He doesn’t do it very often - _that’s not the Jedi way, Ben_ \- but sometimes, sometimes the temptation is too much to resist. Ben is not very good at resisting temptation, he thinks. A poor Jedi, and he doesn’t even know if he cares. 

Because even after seven years, he still hasn’t chosen. Or, he has chosen, wears the robes and the saber and speaks the words that mark him as a leader of the new Jedi order. All the outward signs of devotion are there, he knows that. And that makes him the worst hypocrite of them all. 

As a child he was worried about leaving the order after starting his training. Of breaking his word and disappearing off to the Outer Rim to become a smuggler, a pirate, a bounty hunter. Now Ben knows that he is something much worse. He’s hollow inside, empty and false, and he doesn’t know how to fill himself up. He’s made his choice, but living with it is harder than he ever imagined. 

“Ben?” His eyes fly open. Luke leans around the door to his small room, head cocked to one side. “Is everything alright? I felt…” 

“I’m fine. Just working through some things.” Ben cuts him off. He doesn’t want to have another endless circular conversation with his uncle. _Trust to the will of the Force, Ben. Trust yourself._ It’s so easy for Luke. And Ben doesn’t want to trust himself. He’s wrong, more often than not. He just wants something to fill up the pit that lurks deep inside him. 

“Ok. Well, I’m ready to head out whenever you’re done meditating.” Ben unfolds himself from the hard dirt floor, grabs his satchel from where it huddles in the corner. He’s ready. Meditating isn’t going to help.

It almost never does. 

“Where are we headed this time?” It could be anywhere. A few months ago they chased down a slaver on Cato Nemoidia, of all places. 

“Rugosa. There have been reports of First Order activity in the area and your mother wants us to check it out.” Ben bites back a sigh. The Jedi are supposed to be neutral. They are. And yet his mother has no compunction about sending them out to investigate anything that the Senate won’t let her look into. He tries to release his annoyance, let it slip away like rain on a mountainside, but not quickly enough, it seems. 

“Is that alright? You know you don’t have to come if you’re uncomfortable, Ben.” He shakes his head. He needs to come. He has to. It’s his duty. His family, his place, and this passing annoyance is just another of his failings. Another moment where the emptiness wells up, and makes its way out of him. He can do this. He can help his mother, can help Luke. Can make them proud, and then maybe, maybe, he won’t feel so wrong inside. 

***

Hux resettles his uniform over his shoulders. In the mirror, his teeth gleam white. The heavy fabric of the jacket covers his spines, hides the ridge down his back where they flex away from his skin. And they’ve grown longer over the past few years. Sharp and black and gleaming, and sometimes he lies on his bed and fingers at them, running his claws up the sensitive skin that rings them round. 

He’s got his own quarters, a tiny cell with a bed, fresher. It’s as good as the rest of the lieutenants on the Defiance have, and he knows he should be grateful. He _is_ grateful most of the time. When he comes inside, strips off his uniform to sprawl, naked, in a bed that smells of starch and detergent, not moss and dirt. He should be happy that he can do this much, at least. 

But then he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

And he should be used to it at this point. Claws longer and pointed. Spines that have grown since he was a cadet, teeth sharp. He knows he’s not as ugly as he was, at least. But it’s hard, looking in that mirror, not to want to rip it off the wall, shatter it to pieces until he never has to look at the reflection that stares back at him. 

Sometimes it’s as though someone hung a hideous piece of his art in his room. Except then he realizes that the art lives and breathes, and is in fact his own face. 

Hux turns away from the mirror, shuffles over to the small conservator stuffed under his bed. Pulls out one of the hundreds of identically wrapped packets inside the freezer. It’s the work of a moment to place it in the reheat portion, just long enough to defrost it. 

Disgusting.

It’s still partially cold, oozing into his claws as he bites into the tough muscle. The slither of defrosted meat makes his throat close up, too soft against his palate. But it’s either this or… Hux doesn’t know what he would do without this. Request a post planetside, he supposes. As it is, this is enough to stave off the crippling hunger. 

He’s never satisfied. 

Always on edge, the scent of prey thick in his nose as he goes about the ship. His claws flexing in his gloves and his mouth watering uncontrollable. But there’s no deep ache in his bone. No horrible twist in his stomach, and that’s enough for now. Maybe later, maybe when he’s more established, there will be some other choice. But not now. 

No, now he simply huddles in his room, cold meat on his tongue and horror in his eyes. A disgusting creature, and he wishes that he were anywhere, anyone else. He sucks his claws clean. He isn’t anyone else. 

_Special. You’re my special boy, and I would never trade you for anything._

He hasn’t seen his mother in years. And he’s not sure he even remembers her voice now, the feel of her teeth on his ear. The scent of her hair. But he remembers those words, because they were wrong. False, and he knows that now. 

Hux smooths over his hair and opens the door. His shift on the bridge starts in ten minutes. He walks out of his room, back straight and mouth still tasting of stale blood. 

***

Ben kneels down at Snoke’s feet. His shoulders feel too broad, in the dark robes he found in his room when he woke this morning. Menacing, and Ben’s spent his entire life trying to make himself anything but that. Trying to make himself good, and small, and caring, and just like Luke, like Leia. But now, forehead to the hard floor in this huge throne room, he wonders why he ever tried. 

He’s not like them at all. 

The hollowness inside him, the fear, the emptiness, they never had that. And they never understood why he did. They never tried to fill it up. Never told him how to do that, never helped. 

No one did. 

Liars that they were, they told him he was upholding the family legacy, helping the world grow and change. If his family has any legacy, it is a black cloak and a flickering saber. It is the Empire and order and the blasted waste of space where Alderaan used to hang in the stars. That is who his family is. 

And they lied. Made him promise and swear and never cared that he might not be able to. Never understood how much it mattered to him to be right. Never could tell him why they knew best. But now, at the feet of his new master, he understands. 

This is what he needs. A guiding light, a firm hand, and the emptiness is finally full. Hate, rage, everything he’s never let himself feel - that was what was missing. That was what had been hollowed out of him. And Snoke has finally told him how to fill himself up again. 

“It is good to see you here, my young apprentice. I have a gift for you.” There’s a clang on the floor in front of him, and Ben raises his head just enough to see the gleam of black and silver in front of him. 

“What is it, master?” Snoke chuckles, a rich reedy sound that echoes through the empty room. 

“Your new face. I have something else as well.” Ben straightens up, kneeling on the floor as Snoke paces in front of him. “Ben Solo was a Jedi. Ben Solo broke his oath to that order. You are not Ben Solo any more. You are no oathbreaker, my apprentice. Take up your face and let Ben die. He was weak. He was foolish. You are not. Kill him and become something better.”

Ben takes the helmet with trembling hands. Struggles to his feet and stares into the faceplate. It’s grotesque, a black facade with no mouth. A slit for eyes and the heavy curve of a black brow above it. He settles it over his head. 

It’s dark. At first he cannot see at all. Then, slowly, his vision resolves itself, the machinery whirring and buzzing to adjust itself to his eyes. The world is a different thing from here. A new place, and that fits. Ben is dead, and someone new stands here. Someone better. 

“Who am I, master?” His voice pitches lower through the helmet, a monstrous rasp. He smiles at it. 

“Kylo. You are Kylo Ren. I will give you knights to do your will. I will give you everything. You are my strong right hand, and I will guide you. Fear no longer, Kylo. Doubt no longer. You are more than you have ever been. And I will help you learn that.” 

_Kylo._

The word tastes strange in his mouth. Heavy on his tongue, discordant syllables sharp as he rolls them across his lips. Twisted. 

But then again, so is he. And if Snoke intends for him to seem a monster, to seem a thing of night and horror, so be it. At least he won’t have to pretend anymore. At least he won’t have to bury his rage so deep down that he never feels it well up through him. At least he will finally be the person he was meant to be. 

“Thank you, master.” He bows. If he is a monster, so be it. He has finally chosen, and if the choice is something he never expected, all the better. Ben was weak, was stupid. Cried into his pillow at night and begged the Force to show him the way. 

This is the way. 

And he will hold and take and own it with all his might. Because it is _his,_ and the first thing that has ever really been his alone.

***

Hux resettles himself in the deep chair behind his desk. His new stormtrooper captain is arriving today, and he’s hoping she will be better than the last one. The previous top trooper had been good for only one thing. And even that, well, Hux is still picking pieces out of his teeth. They’re not pleasant. 

This one, though… He remembers Phasma from the Academy. She was few years below him, but even so, her reputation reached his year. Fierce beyond belief, a born infantry leader. More comfortable in trooper armor, with an obsession with Palpatine that rivaled most older Imperial officers. Smart, capable. He’s delighted she’s finally been promoted to the position she deserves. 

There’s a knock at the door. He calls out and Phasma makes her way inside. Her armor gleams in the low light of his office. She pulls off her helmet as she snaps to attention inside the door. Her face is just as he remembers it, bright hair gleaming almost as bright as the chrome on her armor. 

“At ease, captain. Sit down. You and I have much to discuss.” She eases herself into a seat across from him. Nods, smiles a little as he starts to speak again. “I’m delighted to have you on board, Captain Phasma. I’m confident that your tenure with me will be more successful than your predecessor’s was.” He has to bite back a laugh at the aptness of the term. Predecessor indeed. 

“Thank you, General. I’m happy to be on your staff as well.” There’s a slight emphasis on the word “your” and Hux cocks his head to one side. He’s certainly the most up and coming officer in the First Order. But this seems more personal. Phasma blinks at him, smiles a predator’s grin. 

“I remember you from the academy.” Hux nods. “I remember a lot of things about you, General Hux. You have very effective ways of dealing with fools.” For a moment Hux’s skin crawls, his spines standing up involuntarily. She can’t mean what he thinks she means. She can’t know anything. He’s been so careful. 

“Captain? I’m glad you remember, but I don’t think I quite take your meaning.” Phasma grins at him, as though they’re both part of some grand joke, and he’s being deliberately playful. When she speaks, though, it seems as though she has moved on.

“The troops seemed rather on edge when I made my preliminary inspection this morning.” Hux smiles, feels his teeth bite into his lip. The troopers aren’t on edge. They just have a healthy regard for the dangers of being the weak link on his ship. He lets Phasma continue though. 

“I think I might know why.” She leans forward, smiles a sweet grin. “I know. Hux, I know.” 

Hux feels his head swim. Dizzy. The grin slides off his face as fast as it appeared. She knows. What does she know?

“I’m afraid I don’t quite take your meaning, captain.” He’s proud of how his voice stays strong.

“I followed you. Once. At the Academy. I’ve always, always known, Hux. I saw you with a villager. I saw what you did to her.” Phasma leans back in her chair. Reaches up and brushes back her blonde hair unnecessarily. “Don’t worry, my dear General. I’m not going to tell anyone. Certainly not after these years. I just want us to start out on the right footing.” Hux can feel himself breathing hard, his spines bristling and his claws extending further out. 

“What footing would that be? If you’re threatening me, Captain, you know enough to understand why that is a bad idea.” She shakes her head, mouth pursed. 

“No. Hux, no. I want us to work together. I trust you. I respect you. You have to respect me too. I’ve kept your secret all these years. I’m not going to tell now. I just want us to understand one another. It’s a gift, Hux. A gift, and I don’t want to deny you anything.” Hux grips hard at the edge of his desk. So, she wants to work with him. So, she knows. Well, he supposes it was inevitable. Some day, there would be someone who found out. And better this, better it be some subordinate that seems half in awe of him than someone else. Better it be someone who likes his teeth, his claws. Better this.

“Well, then, Captain. I’m sure we can find a way to work together.” Better this.

“I believe we can.”

***

Hux is tired of Kylo Ren. The Supreme Leader’s apprentice stalks around the ship, upsetting the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to establish. It’s taken years of careful planning to find this place. Where the crew skitters through the lower levels, eyes shifting from side to side, skirting shadows and stepping lightly. Where the officers bow and scrape, but work well and quickly. Where the troopers know the truth. Do well, and you’re safe. Do poorly, and the sanitation crew will be scraping you off the floor come morning. 

Hux knows the rumors. That the Finalizer is haunted. That there is something lurking in the shadows. That it is both a reward and a curse. A reward for those who do well, the fast track to success within the First Order’s giant military apparatus. 

A death sentence for those who are sent here and don’t measure up.

He’s worked so hard for this. At first, at first it was nothing more than a way to eat. To survive, and when he was given Finalizer, he could finally live properly for the first time in years. But then, slowly, so slowly, he realized how he could use this. How the whispered rumors - _don’t go down to H deck at night. Don’t score poorly in the assessments. Don’t walk alone. Don’t break regulations -_ they all serve to make his ship the most efficient in the fleet. Fitting, for the flagship of the top General of the First Order. 

But now Ren is here, and he’s upsetting the carefully crafted fear Hux has works for. 

Hux is still preoccupied with the problem of Kylo Ren as he heads down to H deck. His stomach feels empty, hollow against his spine, and he knows he’s gone too long without filling it, been too caught up in the mess that is the Supreme Leader’s apprentice. 

He slips into the cargo hold soundlessly, makes his way to crouch in a corner. Phasma had promised, earlier over a drink, that she had just the thing for him. A trooper who would never measure up, was a disgrace to the entire program. _You’ll like him, Hux. Just the thing for you._ And when the trooper steps inside the room, Hux grins. He’s soft, the gentle curve of his chin framing lips that are too full. Too weak for Hux’s ship, too pliant. Just the sort of pretty, pretty thing Hux likes. 

He waits until the trooper is in the middle of the cargo hold, looking around as if searching for something. Then Hux moves, quick and soundless, claws already free of his gloves. 

The first squeal sounds like music. Hux can feel himself rip through fat and muscle, tear apart sinews as he slides a razor sharp claw to gut the trooper. His head feels fuzzy, hunger overwhelming him. The scent of the trooper’s guts is thick in the air, dark and pungent. His mouth waters, and he bites down hard on the trooper’s shoulder. 

When the door swings open, Hux is naked, stripped of his messy uniform. He feels full, that warm sated feeling he always gets after a good meal. He looks up, cradling one of the trooper’s arms on his lap. 

It’s Ren. 

Of course it is. And Hux expects him to be horrified. Almost laughs at the shocked look on Ren’s face as the knight realizes who is sprawled in front of him, messy and full up with torn flesh. But then Ren’s face changes. Lights up, and Hux knows that look. 

Arousal. 

And it should be impossible. Because who is Ren to think him beautiful? Even as Hux taunts the other man, even as he tempts and bates Ren, he wonders. How has Ren seen this?

“You’re the one they’re all afraid of. You’re the monster behind the stories. It’s been you.” Ren smiles at him, stepping forward across the floor to Hux and he seems to want to touch. Hux laughs to himself. Only Kylo Ren, only this monstrosity of dark wool and a horrible twisted mask, only he would be panting in front of Hux, hands trembling. Hux shivers as Ren draws one of those gloved fingers across his lips.

And his shudder must do something to Ren, must wake something up inside him, because suddenly, suddenly Ren is stripping himself bare in front of Hux. And if Hux weren’t so full, belly soft and warm and sated for the first time in weeks, he’d gasp. He’s never thought a human was beautiful before. But Ren, passionate and desperate, Ren is gorgeous. 

Hux groans as Kylo kisses him, as Kylo pulls him onto his lap. His hands are running up and down Hux’s sides, caressing, stroking. It feels… Hux’s skin is on fire, and as Kylo presses one finger inside him, Hux groans loud and long. He’s stuffed up with is, and Kylo’s hands are so huge, and he just wants more, more. 

He’s never thought about this before, about Ren. But then again, he’s never wondered at what it would be like to fuck like this. In this place where he is fully himself, taste of blood in his mouth and the sweet smell of it in his nose. But now, now it’s the only thing that Hux has ever wanted. It’s _real,_ and _his,_ and what else has he ever had?

He needs Ren to fill him up so that all he can think of is the snap of Ren’s hips against his, the bite of Ren’s teeth on his shoulder. And when Ren finally, finally sinks inside him, Hux whimpers. Ren’s hands are playing over his waist, strange and fascinated. 

“Such a slut for it. Not enough that you’ve gorged yourself on the fucking crew. No, you’ve gotta stuff yourself with my cock.” Ren’s voice is low, a desperate hum as he pulls Hux back onto his dick. And he squirms as Ren murmurs in his ear, hands pressing tight into Hux’s soft stomach. Hux can hardly believe this is happening.

Because Ren tells him he’s a monster. That he’s twisted and wrong. And that, that is what is turning Ren on. That Hux is this horrible thing, all talons and razor sharp edges. And that’s what Ren wants. Not the general, no he wants the monster. 

Hux comes with a groan on his lips, comes in the middle of a bloody mess, Kylo Ren pounding into him from behind. It’s sweet, and good, and he wonders how this has ever happened. 

***

Kylo quickly learns several things about General Hux.

  1. He curls tight on his bed at night, spines down flat against his back. When Kylo slips in behind him, bites at the back of his neck and licks at his throat, Hux shivers. 
  2. When he’s full, belly curving away from his spine and eyes lazy from the pleasure of it, he’ll let Kylo do almost anything he likes. Fuck Hux slow and calm, sliding into him on a slick long glide. He’ll let Kylo whisper in his ear about how beautiful he is like this, a real monster of flesh and blood, not Kylo’s false, constructed creature of night and flame. 
  3. He moans for Kylo’s cock in his sleep. Pants for it when he wakes, and he’s half feral, not quite back to himself and wild with need. It’s sweet, this animal part of the man that no one, no one but Kylo ever gets to see. 



He learns something more important though. He first finds out about it when he steps up behind Hux one day. Hux is standing in front of the mirror in his quarters, naked. Hux is alway naked when they’re alone. More comfortable that way, and Kylo doesn’t mind, not when he can stare at Hux’s gorgeous claws to his heart’s delight. 

Hux is poking at the curve of his ribs, an intense look on his face. He doesn’t glance up when Kylo comes to stand behind him, just keeps staring at himself. 

“What are you looking at, Hux?” Hux startles, spines bristling until he registers Kylo’s voice. 

“Nothing. Just… no. Nothing.” Kylo catches Hux’s eyes for a moment in the mirror before Hux looks away. 

“I don’t believe you.” His own voice is flat. 

“I… I just…” Hux takes a deep breath. “Do you ever get tired of it? Looking so ugly to the world.” He shakes his head as Kylo’s face twists up. “I don’t mean I think you’re ugly, Kylo. You’re… the only human who isn’t. Even Phasma. She isn’t like you. But I mean… you’re a monster to them. To the troopers. Don’t you ever get tired of it?” 

Kylo shakes his head mutely. No. He doesn’t. This is who he wants to be. Who he has filled himself up with, and why should he be ashamed of that. 

But then he catches Hux’s desperate eyes in the mirror. And it can’t be. Hux is… Hux is perfect. Beautiful, and the knowledge that he’s stronger than anyone, that his claws are razor sharp. That his smile hides points of steel - it all makes Kylo’s stomach feel woozy, his head light and his hands desperate. 

“I just. I’m…” Hux pokes at the soft curve of his waist. “Look at this, Kylo. I just… sometimes… I just wish…”

“What is it, Hux?”

“I just wish I was somebody. I’m stuck in the fucking middle, and what could be worse than that? My mother was so beautiful and look, look at me. I’m a soft mess, and why, why would this ever be beautiful?” He slams his fist into his side and Kylo winces. He reaches out, catches Hux’s claw. 

Hux fights him at first, pulls away as Kylo strokes a hand over his soft belly. As Kylo twines his fingers in Hux’s claws. But then he starts to relax. Kylo bites into his neck, teeth marking his affection on Hux’s shoulder before he speaks again. 

“You’re not ugly, Hux. I know you don’t believe me, but this, this is beautiful. Your claws, your spines, your stomach, your chest, your teeth. They’re all beautiful.” Kylo eases them onto the floor so that Hux straddles him. He runs his hands carefully over Hux’s sides to finger at his shoulders and protruding collar bones. 

“You’re a monster, Hux. A shadow lurking in the corners, that rips and tears and kills and haunts the night. You’re the horror at the edge of vision. The creature in the midnight hour.” He kisses Hux, lets Hux dig sharp teeth into his lip before he pulls away. “That’s beautiful. That’s right. You’re mine and I need you for that. Not because you’re that foppish man who struts on his bridge. Someone else could do that too. But no one, no one could be like you. No one could be as much a monster as I am except for you.” 

He rolls their hips together, fingers tight around the sharp ridges and curves of Hux’s pelvis. Hux feels good on top of him, a solid weight that always makes Kylo gasps. He loves that they’ve come to this. That the time he found Hux, blood on his mouth and the hand of a dead stormtrooper in his lap, fucked Hux in a pool of blood, it’s all led to this. To this beautiful thing that is all his. 

“You’re a monster, Hux.” Hux groans, long and deep as Kylo palms at his dick. And Kylo has to pull himself out then. Free himself of his trousers, and the first touch of their cocks together is fiery sharp. “You’re a fucking monster and it’s beautiful and…” He groans. Hux is rocking into his hand, and it feels so good that Kylo can’t breathe for the beauty of it. 

This is what fills him up. If there has been a single empty place left inside him, it is complete now. This, this monster above him, who is all his, this is what he has always been looking for. This. 

He groans again as Hux scratches lines across his chest, claws digging deep into Kylo’s pecs. It hurts, and he can’t breathe with how good that is. Can’t think, can’t speak any longer, and Hux is fucking into his hand, long cock sliding against Kylo’s dick with sharp stuttering jerks. 

It’s too much. Pleasure building like water behind a dam. And the levee’s going to shatter into a million pieces, Kylo can feel it coming. He claws desperately at Hux’s spines, feels one of his fingers slice open on their razor sharp edges. Then he’s coming, emptying himself out as Hux’s cock jerks against his. It’s sweet and good, and he pants through it. 

Hux collapses onto him as he comes too. For a moment, they’re still. Then Hux’s voice drifts up to him, from where his face is buried in Kylo’s shoulder. 

“You really think it’s a good thing? That I’m like this?”

“I wouldn’t change it for the galaxy,” Kylo promises. And in that moment, in that instant he has finally found a still center. Has finally found that thing he so desperately wanted. 

***

There’s a light touch on his shoulder, and Hux startles, claws coming up to scrape across chrome. His side aches, and his hipbone feels bruised. He has to have been lying here for hours, must have been curled up on the durasteel deck. But there’s an empty hole where that time should be, a long, unbroken feeling of being curved in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his stomach, aching. His face feels wet. 

“Hux? Are you alright?” It’s Phasma’s voice, and of course it is, bright screech of her armor under his claws. She’s kneeling next to him, one gauntleted hand just drawing back. He pushes himself up off the floor with one hand. There’s a sucking sound, soft and sticky-wet as he pulls away, his undershirt clinging to the red mess he’s been lying in. And Hux runs a hand through his hair, feels it come away tacky with matted blood. He grimaces, feels his stomach twist up, too full and it should feel good, but all he wants to do is retch. 

The room is a mess, and usually Hux would be long gone by now, back to his uniform and his duties, and the endless, endless pulse of his beautiful ship. He pulls his knees up to his chest, feels them press against his full belly as he wraps his arms around them. His voice sounds thick when he finally manages to speak. 

“What time is it?” Phasma’s still beside him and as he watches, her hand reaches out, strokes lightly at the back of one of his claws. Hux hardly feels it.

“Just the beginning of third shift. You don’t have to be anywhere. I already rearranged your shifts.” Hux thinks he should be angry - high handed of her, and he shouldn’t allow that - but all he can feel is a sort of creeping acceptance. So. He doesn’t have to go to the bridge right now. So.

“Hux, you need to move.” Phasma looks around the room, wrinkles her nose a little. It’s a knife in Hux’s belly. She sighs when she looks back at him. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t… you don’t want someone to come by to clean up this room and find you here.” Hux shrugs. What would they find? Just him, and doesn’t he deserve to be found? ( _Found out, a voice whispers to him._ )

“Look, Hux. I’m going to go get Ren, ok. Just… just stay here for a moment.” Hux shrugs again. It’s not like he has anywhere else to be. As she leaves the room he wonders if he should lie down again. It would feel better.

***

Kylo comes into the room in a whirl of black robes. Hux raises his head back up off the floor as Kylo bends down next to him, strokes a hand down his side. Then he’s slipping an arm around Hux’s shoulders, another under Hux’s knees. 

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Hux nuzzles into Kylo’s shoulder, buries his face because maybe, maybe if he can’t see himself, maybe things will be different. Maybe he will be different. 

He keeps his face hidden as Kylo walks through the ship, a crumpled mass of black fabric in Kylo’s arms. And maybe he should worry that someone will see, but what does it matter? 

And then they’re inside his quarters, and Kylo’s setting him down on unsteady feet. Hux raises his arms as Kylo struggles to slip his shirt off, numb skin under Kylo’s caressing hands. And then Kylo’s undressing too, and Hux realizes he’s forgotten to lower his arms again when he feels pins and needles starting in his claws. He shakes himself a little, feels his spines twitch down his back. Then Kylo is grabbing a claw, pulling off Hux’s trousers one handed as he weaves his fingers through Hux’s. 

The bed is soft when Kylo pushes him down on it, and Hux curls up tight on his side again, arms wrapped protectively around his belly. Kylo slides in next to him, not quite pressing against his spines. Then Hux feels his claws being pried away, replaced. Kylo rests a huge hand on his belly, stroking over it, and Hux sighs as the other hand comes to settle over his heart. 

“What happened?” Kylo’s voice is low, a slow caress in time with the soft sweeps of his hand over Hux’s full stomach. Hux shakes his head. He doesn’t… Kylo doesn’t need to know. This is… there is nothing he can do anyway. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But… Hux… Sometimes it helps. Just sometimes. And… I’m here for you. I don’t,” Kylo’s voice breaks a little. “I know that we… that you probably think that all I care about is the version of you that is powerful and brutal, and all those things you think I want to be.” He takes a deep breath, and Hux can feel it whistle out along the sensitive skin that rings each of his spines. 

“But… But I care about _you,_ Hux. All of you. And us. And if you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s fine. But…” He trails off, and for a moment Hux’s heart feels like it’s stopped in his chest. Suddenly, suddenly everything comes into sharp focus. Kylo’s hand soft on his stomach, Kylo’s body warm behind him, and Hux is horrified to hear a harsh hiccuping sob pour out of his mouth. 

“I just…” He takes a deep breath, blinks just a few too many times. Prods at his stomach where it presses against Kylo’s fingers. “This, Kylo. This. And the… I’m nothing. Not a fucking ugly mess of a human, not beautiful, not anything. Just this, and I don’t… I don’t know.” Kylo sigh behind him again, presses a kiss into Hux’s hair. 

“And I don’t want to be like you, I don’t. Only just. When I… when I ate today I wondered. Just. Not to be like this anymore, to be anything but this and why can’t I be just one thing? How is it fair that I’m stuck here, in the middle, in this horrible body that can’t be you or me. That shouldn’t exist and I’m still like this and what more of a horror is there?” He takes a deep breath. Shudders and cringes, words spilling out of him and he can’t stop them from coming up like bile in his throat. 

“You know?” The words trip off his lips to bite at the still air of his quarters. “You know what I realized today, Kylo?”

“What?” Kylo’s voice hisses over him. 

“It’s not the fucking monster with horns and tentacles that you’re scared of. Not the fucking rathtar. No. They’re all terrified, and it’s the monster that’s just as ugly as they are. You’re not scared of the fucking alien. No, it’s me, because I’m wrong and broken, and I just…” he chokes, words clogging his throat to tight to breathe. “I just wish… I just want to just… not be like this anymore. Anything, Kylo. Just anything different.” And there’s no more inside him, it’s all spilled out on the soft sheets and he shudders as Kylo strokes at him with soft sure hands. For a moment, there’s silence. And then Kylo rolls him over, presses his forehead to Hux’s. Hux wonders if his breath smells, death and decay filling him up too tightly.

“Hux…” Kylo breathes. “I… I know it won’t help. But…” He strokes a finger down the side of Hux’s face, caresses lips bitten raw by fangs too long. “I think you’re beautiful. Just right. And they’re all scared of you? So what. They should be. But not because you’re wrong, or broken, or not meant to be. Never that.” Hux blinks, eyes too wet.

“No, Hux. They should be scared because you are so much more than they can ever be. Because you are this wonderful, incredible creature, and nothing can ever compare. Because you are something special, unique in this entire galaxy. And I know… I know that you don’t believe me. But… But I’m just going to keep saying in, endless. Because. Because Hux, you _are_. Every bit of you: the softness at your waist, the delicate skin behind your ears, the curve of your spines, the sharp edge of your teeth. It’s beautiful.” 

There’s a twisting feeling inside Hux again, except this time, this time it’s near his heart. A loosening, and he sighs. There’s feeling through him now, numbness hiding itself away in a blank corner of his mind, lurking. But it’s been chased away just a little by the slow pass of Kylo’s hands, the soft caress of his voice. And Hux doesn’t believe, not now, not when he knows, just knows that he’s right. But somehow, somehow this helps. Somehow Kylo’s kiss and the weight of his hands on Hux’s side, that’s enough to maybe, just maybe make Hux not care. 

Maybe that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the monster hux beta-squad: [queerbuckthrace](http://queerbuckthrace.tumblr.com/), [n-talia-a](http://n-talia-a.tumblr.com/), [procrastinationasperformanceart](http://procrastinationasperformanceart.tumblr.com/), [poignantlyarrogant](http://poignantlyarrogant.tumblr.com/), and [zorekryk](http://zorekryk.tumblr.com/). All the mistakes left are mine, not theirs!
> 
> Also, and of course thanks to [artyaourter](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/), without whom I would never post anything at all.
> 
> Find _me_ at [saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/)


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